


No Quarter

by firstlightofeos



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlightofeos/pseuds/firstlightofeos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><s>Charles</s> The Dread Pirate Roberts takes no prisoners. Erik has to find a way to convince him to make an exception, just this once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Quarter

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, last night (this morning? God, I can't tell), we were discussing Pirate AUs and Pirate!Charles, which gave me the idea for Dread Pirate Roberts!Charles and his Westley-like apprentice Erik (who, it was decided, was a blacksmith who had been impressed into service), who learns pirating from Charles but mostly learns sex and spends a lot of time giving Charles blowjobs. And then I ended up writing this. 
> 
> Warning for dubious consent. 
> 
> Thanks to **professor** for the title, and to **professor** , **unforgotten** , **amindaya** , **furius** , **ximeria** , **Clarounette** , and anyone whom I might have forgotten who was in chat for nudging and encouraging and brainstorming and staying up until ridiculous o'clock to read this while I wrote it. You guys are the best. <3
> 
>  **ETA:** Now with fanart by the lovely Clarounette, [here](http://clarounette.tumblr.com/post/41210229607/fanart-for-firstlightofeos-fic-no-quarter-made); go look at it, guys, it's loooovely. <3

Charles closes the door to his cabin behind him softly. The man kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room flinches but doesn’t look up. 

“So,” Charles murmurs. “Erik, was it?” 

The man nods. 

“You know who I am.”

Erik nods again.

“Say it.” 

“The Dread Pirate Roberts,” Erik whispers. 

“And you know my reputation.” 

“You take no prisoners.” 

“Yes.” Charles tilts his head, evaluating. “And yet you begged me to spare you, begged so fervently that even my hardened crew took pity on you and asked me to consider your plea.” Charles blinks slowly, folds his hands together in front of him. “Much as I’d like to punish them for their disobedience, I do actually need a crew to man this vessel, and recruiting when you’re the Dread Pirate Roberts is much harder than one would think.

“So,” Charles finishes. “Tell me, Erik, why should you live, when I’ve thrown so many others to Davy Jones’s Locker?”

Charles can hear Erik’s mind whirring, panic keeping him from being able to pick out any distinct thoughts besides an overarching _Please_. There’s something else there, too, something that’s buried deep that Charles could tease out if he really wanted to, but it’ll be easier if Erik calms down. 

“Erik,” he prompts. 

Erik looks up. Charles is struck by the piercing beauty of his eyes. The man himself is stunning, all trim lines and firm muscle, no spare flesh on him anywhere—but his eyes, shimmering so gorgeously with unshed tears, are truly something. Charles _wants_ to keep Erik, would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t, but he needs Erik to give him a reason. 

“Please,” Erik says, the word falling from his mouth like a prayer. 

Charles takes a step forward. “Yes, you’ve said that already. Please what?” 

“Please,” Erik says. “I...please let me live.” 

“I’m tempted,” Charles admits, taking a few more steps forward, until he’s standing directly in front of Erik. On a whim, he reaches out and cups the side of Erik’s face, his thumb stroking Erik’s too-prominent cheekbone. “But you have to give me _some_ reason.” He smiles dryly. “I can’t let people think I’m losing my edge.”

Erik closes his eyes and says, “I...I want to live. Please.” 

“Yes,” Charles says. “I’d rather got that. But is there any specific reason? Someone at home, a betrothed perhaps? Children?”

“No.” Erik opens his eyes and shakes his head. “There’s...I have no one.” 

Charles hums thoughtfully, still stroking Erik’s cheek. So there’s no one to miss him, then, no one whom Erik will want to go back to, no danger that sparing Erik will lead to anyone knowing of Charles’s mercy. 

If he is indeed merciful. He’s still waiting.

“Please,” Erik says again. “Let me live. I’ll. I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything?” Charles repeats.

In answer, Erik turns his head and catches Charles’s thumb in his mouth. 

Charles catches his breath and watches, transfixed, as Erik starts sucking on his thumb, gently at first, and then in earnest, swiping his tongue along the pad. Charles closes his eyes, feels Erik move on to lip at Charles’s first and middle fingers, drawing them into his mouth and sucking on them as well, his tongue sliding between Charles’s fingers, curling around them and stroking them in a constant, steady rhythm. Then he opens his mouth a little wider, adds Charles’s ring finger, and slides all the way down to the knuckle, and Charles groans, very softly. 

“Erik,” he breathes, opening his eyes to watch. “Erik, oh...”

Erik pulls off, a string of saliva lingering between his lips and Charles’s fingers before he licks it away. 

“Please,” he says quietly, though it’s gained a bit of smugness now. Charles slaps Erik’s cheek lightly in reprimand, enjoying the wet, lewd sound it makes.

“Don’t get cheeky,” he warns. “That was nice, but I’m still not convinced.” 

“Let me convince you,” Erik says, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please. I...I want to.” 

“And how would you do that?” Charles has a few ideas, but he wants to hear what Erik will come up with.

Erik blinks, looking a little lost. 

“Well?” Charles sets his dry hand on top of Erik’s head, gently carding his fingers through his hair. Erik closes his eyes, leaning into Charles’s touch. 

“I...don’t know,” he says, finally, shaking his head. 

“Mm,” Charles says thoughtfully, tugging lightly at Erik’s hair, just enough to pull his head back a fraction, before letting go and stepping back entirely. He wipes his hand off on his breeches and adjusts the cuffs of his billowing black sleeves, careful not to make any eye contact with Erik as he toys with the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. “That’s disappointing.” 

“No!” Erik exclaims, straightening up, looking panicked. “No, please, I want to, I do, I just don’t know what to do.” Charles glances at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“You know,” he says. He turns to face Erik full-on, and treats him to his most seductive smile, the one Raven always tells him to put away before he starts an orgy in the tavern. “You just don’t want to say it.” He adjusts himself in his breeches, and smirks as Erik’s eyes zero in on his crotch and Erik licks his lips unconsciously. 

“Erik,” Charles says gently. “What do you want to do?” 

“Your—your—” 

“You can say it, it’s all right.” Charles keeps his voice low, soothing, as he prowls back over to Erik. He runs a finger down the side of Erik’s face, just barely touching, and delights in Erik’s shiver. “My...”

“Your”—Erik closes his eyes—“cock.”

“There, now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Charles pets Erik’s hair. “What about my cock, darling?”

“I want—that is, may I please, I...” Erik trails off, looks down. Charles grips his chin with his free hand, nudges him to look back up at Charles. Charles raises an eyebrow. “Iwanttosuckyourcock.” 

“Again. Slower, this time.”

Erik makes to look away again, but Charles holds him in place, tutting. “Erik.”

“I would like, I, please, may I suck your cock?” Erik’s eyes widen, and then he adds, hopefully, “Sir?” 

Charles lets out all his breath in a long _whoosh_. 

“Yes, Erik,” he says hoarsely, when he has regained enough control of himself to speak without saying something terribly embarrassing. “Yes, you may.” 

He lets his hands fall to his breeches, and he undoes them as fast as he can, not bothering to even try to keep the laces from tangling. Erik moans when Charles pushes his breeches down just enough to reveal his half-hard cock. Charles strokes himself a few times to get himself ready, then puts his other hand on the back of Erik’s head.

Erik is pliant, allowing himself to be guided forward, his mouth falling open obligingly. Then his mouth is on Charles, his lips closing around the head of Charles’s cock before he slides down, just a few inches. He stays there for a few seconds, not moving, adjusting, and then he begins to suck. Erik moves slowly at first, his tongue flicking experimentally against the underside of Charles’s cock. He gradually grows more confident, bobbing his head up and down, tongue pressing more firmly now before curling around Charles’s cock and dragging _up_. 

“Erik,” Charles moans, his fingers burying themselves in Erik’s hair, not tugging, just holding him in place. Erik hums around Charles’s cock, and Charles groans, his fingers spasming as he tries not to shove Erik even further down. Erik’s clearly inexperienced, trying to figure this out as he goes—next time, Charles will be in his head, will maybe demonstrate first, show Erik how he likes it and take things slow; but this time is about making Erik _his_. 

Then Erik slides back until he’s almost entirely pulled off Charles’s cock, tongues at the pre-cum collecting in the slit, and then practically dives forward until he’s almost taken all of Charles in, and begins to suck even harder, hollowing his cheeks. Charles’s hips stutter forward slightly before he gets them back under control, but Erik doesn’t seem to mind, speeding up his movements, his thoughts sparking with lust. 

It’s the feel of Erik’s arousal, _his_ pleasure at sucking Charles off, that brings Charles to the edge, and when he feels the familiar tightening in his balls, he gently nudges Erik back until he’s completely off Charles’s cock. Erik makes a confused sound, looking up at Charles questioningly. 

“Shh,” Charles says, stroking his cheek. “Just hold still, darling—mm, exactly like that. Mouth open a little, eyes closed.” 

Erik obeys beautifully, and Charles barely has his hand on his cock before he’s coming, striping Erik with his come. Erik gasps as the first drops hit his face, but doesn’t open his eyes, stays exactly as Charles put him. 

“Lovely,” Charles murmurs, dragging his thumb through the mess on Erik’s face. “You’re lovely, Erik, just look at you, covered in my come—”

And then, quietly, with little more than a sharp intake of breath, Erik comes, his entire body stiffening as a wet stain seeps across the front of his trousers. If Charles hadn’t already decided to keep Erik at this point, that would have clinched it. 

As it is, well...he’s not quite sure he’s ever letting Erik go.

***

Charles basks in the afterglow for a few minutes before he releases Erik and starts to clean them both up. Erik keeps his eyes steadily on Charles as Charles wipes his face with a washcloth, looking up at him with a cross between devotion and fear—a good combination, Charles thinks. When Charles straightens up, Erik shifts minutely; it’s hardly anything, but it reminds Charles that Erik’s hands and feet are still bound, and his knees must be killing him. 

Charles pulls out his sword, and Erik winces but says nothing. He feels resigned, and Charles sighs. 

“Relax, darling,” Charles says, walking around Erik so he can see what he’s doing. “That was lovely, I’m not going to kill you right now. I might still kill you later, but I’m willing to take you on in a trial capacity for now.” He slices neatly through Erik’s bonds, then steps to the side so Erik can see him again. “Can you stand?”

Erik nods. He brings his wrists around in front of him and massages them gently before he leans forward and puts his palms flat on the ground, pushing himself up to his feet. He sways slightly, and Charles steps forward to steady him. Erik looks as if he’s about to refuse Charles’s offer of help, but then he stumbles when Charles starts to lead him over to sit in one of the plush chairs next to the desk, and he just clutches Charles’s shoulder more firmly. Charles undresses Erik rapidly and methodically, then wipes him down again, making sure Erik is as clean as he can get without a proper bath. Erik doesn’t even protest the manhandling, just keeps watching Charles with that same look of terrified devotion. Charles hums contentedly when he finishes, and leans up to kiss Erik lightly as a reward for being so good. 

Then Charles strips himself, and retrieves two robes from his wardrobe, offering one to Erik before belting the other one on himself. Erik manages just fine by himself—it’s only a robe, after all—and then starts eyeing the bowl of fruit on Charles’s desk covetously.

“You can help yourself,” Charles says. Erik looks up at him, surprised. Charles smiles. “No tricks, I promise.” To demonstrate, he strides over and plucks an apple from the bowl and takes a large bite. Erik’s stomach growls. “You must be hungry. Take as much as you’d like.” 

After a long, considering moment, Erik reaches out and takes an apple. He starts to eat it with the relish of a man who hasn’t eaten well in days—likely the case, to be honest; the navies of the world have never treated their crews as well as they ought. 

“So,” Charles says, settling into his own chair. “Like I said, I still haven’t decided whether or not to kill you”—this is a lie; the Dread Pirate Roberts takes no prisoners, but that doesn’t mean he _kills_ everyone, and Charles would certainly never kill someone as promising as Erik—“but I’m willing to take you on for now. But I won’t have dead weight; you’ll have to contribute, somehow. And charming as the thought of keeping you as my personal bedwarmer is, the crew would never allow it.” 

“I didn’t think a pirate ship was a democracy,” Erik says. Charles laughs; it seems Erik, when he’s a little more comfortable, is what Emma likes to call “insubordinate.” (Charles calls it “interesting”—and alternately, “incredibly attractive.”)

“It’s not,” Charles says. “But I like to keep my crew happy with me; a happy crew is a crew that doesn’t mutiny, and it’s a crew that _survives_.” He leans back and takes another bite of his apple. “I rather like living, as you may have guessed, and so respecting the feelings and opinions of my crew is essential.” He sits up straight and leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “So. What can you do, Erik?”

“I...was always good with metal,” Erik says softly, looking away. “I was a blacksmith in my town before—before.”

“Good, then you can help Hank, he’s our carpenter.” Charles tilts his head, evaluating. “I’ll have Azazel teach you swordfighting, too, and Raven and Darwin educate you in hand-to-hand combat. And, of course, like any new crewmember, you’ll have to do your time on mess duty and swabbing the decks.” 

Erik doesn’t complain, as Charles had thought he might; he just nods jerkily, agreeing, and then takes another several bites of his apple.

“You can sleep in here tonight with me,” Charles continues, nodding his head at the large bed—his main indulgence on this ship. (Raven had rolled her eyes at him the first time she’d seen it, but said nothing—for once.) “Tomorrow, we’ll find you a proper bunk, unless you would like to stay with me—”

“I would.” The answer is instantaneous, certain; it’s definitely flattering. 

“All right,” Charles says, laughing. “It’s settled, then; you’ll sleep with me, in my bed.” He looks up at Erik. “Last chance to change your mind.”

Erik returns Charles’s gaze steadily and doesn’t say a thing. 

***

Later that night, when they’re both tucked in bed, tired out from a brief round of mutual masturbation that had led to Charles’s candlestick embedding itself in the wall, which had then led to a very _interesting_ and revealing conversation, Charles blows out the candle by the bed and says, wrapping himself around Erik:

“Good night, Erik. Sleep well.” 

Just as Erik begins to relax, his breathing evening out, Charles adds, with a wicked smirk: 

“I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”


End file.
